


The Smell of Roses and Mettalic Wine

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War, Eventual Happy Ending, Jon lives, M/M, Temporary Amnesia, Tord Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Red Leader was a ruthless killer and leader bent on reshaping a better world for society by any means possible.Tord was just a mechanic and inventor who wanted the best for everybody.Nobody knows where it all went wrong but when Tord wakes up with no memory and the only thing he has to his past is a battered notebook, he's not sure who he is anymore.





	1. Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been watching me for more than a year you'll know this is my 3rd attempt at writing this story unfortunately.
> 
> I didn't know what kind of ship I wanted this centered around and because only cowards ship Tord/Tom, I decided to make this Edd/Tord themed since there's almost nothing. Don't worry, the content will be sprinkled here and there mostly I'm focused on the plot and the tragedies to come ohohoho.... 
> 
> Updates happen sporadically!

Reload. Aim. Shoot. Repeat.

Reload. Aim. Shoot. Repeat

Reload.

Aim.

Shoot.

 

and Repeat.

  
I.

  
War had been raging for almost a full 8 hours on the back hills of the a normally quiet valley, gunfire echoing over the hillsides and breaking the silence of the empty fields. From a vantage point, somebody would have been able to see a lone figure blazing a trail of death and terror in his wake, only stopping when the last apparent enemy in the direct vicinity fell before him.    
  
It was then that Red Leader sucked in a deep breath, letting the rancid death of the dew filled morning enter his lungs as he dropped his now empty gun. He could feel the cold morning sun creeping its way over the horizon to lighten the now empty field, revealing masses of drying blood and human waste. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, friend and foe lay among themselves haphazardly staining the grass a dark burgundy. Absentmindedly from far away he can feel his uniform drying, gore staining into the starched fabric as he is finally able to stop and properly think.   
  
Somewhere, his brain acknowledges that he had lost sight of his two trusted bodyguards a while back, opting to thunder straight into battle instead of taking precautionary measures like they had.    
  
More gunfire echoes off of the nearby hills and valleys, a percussive orchestra he could barely hear over the roaring of blood in his ears and the static film over his eyesight. This was probably the worst place he could have chosen to stop, but he just needs a moment to recollect himself. Chilly early morning wind lifts bloodied hair off of his forehead, bringing to attention more unpleasant feelings blossoming, making his skin crawl and a pit of nausea to open up in his stomach. His head starts to swim, and he grabs his hands together in an effort to quell the tremors he can start to feel as his comes down from his adrenaline high.    
  
The stench of death is too much for him and he is swaying on his feet, collapsing onto his knees before vomiting right into the cleanest patch of grass he can find. Bile burns the back of his already destroyed throat, and he fights a second urge to vomit. Opening his eyes reveals the ground moving below him, a mess of muddied greens and reds that refuse to stop moving. Clenching his teeth, Red Leader squeezes his eyes shut tiredly and centers himself enough to sit back on his heels. A noise registers behind him as worried shouts and footsteps draw near. With a burning resolve, Red Leader staggers to his feet before they can reach him, shrugging his coat off and throwing it Paul, who catches it with ease. Apparent worry flashes through both of their eyes, sending a thrill of spite and annoyance down his spine and through his blood.    
  
Reaching into the pack strapped to his thigh, Red Leader barks orders to flank him and to call for backup before as he pulls out a roll of gauze and begins to bandage a deep wound above Paul’s temple. Ignoring the probing stares coming from both of them, he explains in harsh and hurried tones about resistance survivors and instructs them both to gather teams and to follow him into the backwoods. He explains that he has a plan to flush them out before gunfire resumes in the distance, quickly accompanied with the sound of grenades, cutting Red Leader off.   
  


With a heaving sigh of anger, he seized Pauls gun and with a nod, he ordered them to find strike teams before he’s charging back towards the gunfire, curses on his lips and a braviety so strong one could call it foolishness.    
  


Patryk and Paul can do nothing but follow orders, pleas for Red Leader to take a rest and that the battle did not need to be won single handedly dying before they can reach his ears. They watch him thunder into the midst of the battle, shooting and reloading faster than thought possible and overthrowing the resistance survivors at a speed unmatched by anybody else on the enemy side. It wasn’t a matter of taking him down, it’s a matter of being able to attack before a bullet was shot between your eyes.   
  


They both exchanged worried glances and followed orders as they had been trained to do, yelling to those still able to fight to support the attack lead by their leader. 

 

They were winning, but at what expense?

Reload. Aim. Shoot. Repeat.

Reload. Aim. Shoot. Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

And repeat.

  
  



	2. Time

Tick. Tock  
Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.

Time is Finite.

And as it is with finite concepts and mortality, at some point in our lives they shall cross paths within us all, and we too shall meet our end as the rest before us have.

Such is life.

Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.  
Tick.  
Tock.

II.

 **Friend**. One word and countless memories. Not all of them good, but not all of bad either.

  
Standing on a cliffside hanging over the North Sea, Red Leader stares across the waters, a frown creasing the corners of his mouth as thoughts race through his mind unfiltered. Late day sunlight shines gently through his unbrushed hair, turning it light and honeyed. Hazy smoke from a burning cigar curls and wisps gently in breeze, traveling shortly before dissapearing. Most of his evenings had started and ended in this manner. He never once missed a sunset or sunrise and he wasn't inclined to break tradition, despite how incredibly tired he was.

4 years had passed since he had left home and joined the army. He liked to think he didn't regret that desicion, but nightmares and old wounds that still pained him to this day tried to convince him otherwise. As soon as he had arrived on the base under the original Red Leaders rule almost 5 years ago, every waking hour since then had become become dedicated to his experiments, his battle plans and training. The years had seen him stronger, more resilient and given him a determination he'd never felt. For once he felt in control and for once he felt like the world was his.

_And soon, it would be._

The years hadn't been all unkind either, if now was any proof of his accomplishments. He stood at the top, thousands of people who believed in his cause and willing to die for him at his beck and call. However, even with all that he had done, was still doing, his army was barely that; an army. Many of the front lines soldiers had gone through vigorous training throughout the years to get to where they were now. He was proud of his and their progress and marveled once more, taking a slow inhale from his cigar allowing the smoke to ruminate in his lungs before exhaling. It trailed lazily up in to the air before it dissapearing back into his surroundings.

The sun dipped dangerously in the sky, and began to kiss the horizon with hues of orange starting to appear in the sky above. Red Leader sighs, dropping his cigar only to bring a foot down, crushing the embers beneath his foot. He turns and heads back inside, dread already churning his insides around into nausea.

 

Once he had cut across the hangar and central hallways, he found himself once more in his office, silence pressing down on him as had been of late, the doors clicking softly behind him the only reprieve to the deafening sound of his own thoughts. Boots clicking against the floor, he strode over to his desk, gloved fingers already tracing over the mahogany as he had done countless of times before. It had been almost a year since he had been appointed Red Leader and even now he couldn't quite grasp the finality of the situation.

What would his old friends think if they saw him now? Waging war with the government, all on the gamble that he could somehow take it down and recreate it under his rule? Would they support him? Or would they scorn his ideals, and expect everything to return to how it was?

Red Leader let out a low chuckle and shook his head, stopping that train of thought. _No,_ he thought sadly, _I became the Red Leader by leaving those who held me down behind me. I can't let them affect me anymore._

Pushing down his nausea and thoughts, he sat down heavily in his chair and surveyed the paperwork left on his desk. Artillary Funds, Medical Reports, New Recruits and their skills. The list went on and on and he found himself gritting his teeth with frusteration. He hadn't truly seen his desk clean of forms or papers in weeks and it started to wear on his nerves. The England base was a moderate outpost with only a few thousand members, far from the numbers back in Norway. The base there ran like a well oiled machine under his watchful eye. He'd only been to England for a routine inspection of the base and its functions before he realized how useless it was trying to expect anybody other than himself to run the army. The base had been buried in confusion and dissarray and he'd been there for roughly 2 months, fixing what his abscence had left. His last commander had only _seemed_  more responsible and tactictile than the idiot really was, judging by how terribly the entire base was backed up in their training, ammunition stockpiling and general organization.

He had left his most trusted and competent soldiers behind to run the Norway base in his stead, two faces his men knew to trust and fear all in the same. He wasn't too worried about the base operating without him there, but his next plans included them being in England, which did worry him. He would probably just give the Norway Base a free weekend to do whatever they please, army rules withstanding. He couldn't allow the base to run with nobody he could trust there.

But he had a second reason to be in England. He had left something in his old residence, and had failed to pick it up beforehand. This next mission, if it were to go smoothly, would give them a weapon to ensure their next battle with the government would be the last.

He was sure of it.

 

Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.

The last commander had hung a clock and had seemingly left it there, even after Red Leader had told him to empty out his belongings from the office. He had meant to take it down before, but it had slipped his mind. He never minded the clock before but with the nausea and silence weighing down on his pysche, each tick grew louder and louder and he found himself gritting his teeth as he scratched down yet another signature.

Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.  
Ti-"Red Leader Sir? I-"

With a scrape of his chair, Red Leader lurched across his desk, gun in hand and aimed at the top of his doorway, a strangled yell in his throat. The sound of a gunshot ringing around the office a second later. The unfortunate soldier who had just walked in flinched back, dropping the papers in his hands only for the clock to drop down on top of them, glass shattering.

Red Leader felt the tension leaving his body, and sagged back down and brought a hand up to massage his temple. "Clean that up for me please and perhaps come back when I'm better prepared for whatever news you bring."

The soldier, who seemed to be a man with a sharp face and shocking blond hair, nodded mutely and gathered up his papers before retreating silently, doors shutting softly behind him. Shifting his attention back to the paperwork he had been making progress on beforehand, Red Leader made a note to buy a digital clock.

5 minutes passed in uneasy silence and he was beginning to doubt the soldiers return before the sliding doors clicked open softly once more. He came in and went straight to the floor, a pan and brush in hand. The janitors hall was in the barracks, a good 8 minute walk. Red leader felt a pinprick of admiration for the boy and peered ober his desk, still idly filling out paperwork. He seemed to be making careful effort not to be so loud when cleaning, making each sweep precise and steady. A thoughtful effort wasted when there was no way to clean up broken shards of glass on a hard surfaced floor quietly to begin with.

Red Leader found the gesture admirable despite the misgivings and kept an eye on him, watching him diligently clean up. Curiousity about the soldier pushed some of his thoughts away and he felt himself still the pen, holding it in place as he scrutinized the soldier on the floor. Faithful and eager to please, even to a man who had pointed a gun in his drection. A man who if he so wanted to, could destroy him on a whim. A man who held _power_.

_He had something to lose._

"Come here." Red Leader put down his pen and sat back, watching the soldier stand up and properly dispose of the waste before approaching the desk respectfully, three fingered salute over his heart. A smile graced Red Leader's face and he laced his fingers together and rest his chin on top of them. 

"At ease, soldier." He spoke smoothly with a smile, inviting him to loose formality.

"Is there something you would like to discuss with me?" The young man's tone was quiet, with just an edge of refinery lost to the roughness of the army. A new recruit in the last year, still unmarked by any serious wounds and still held an air of certainty.

_Just who he was looking for._

"Tell me, what is your name soldier? I have a mission that needs to be done and I feel like you would be perfect for it." flattery was the key to swaying over yound soldiers such as this one, and he could see it working, the lad's ego being preened.

"its Yuu, Red Leader sir." came the steady response.

"Well Yuu, do you know a little place called Durdam Lane?"

 

Tick. Tock.  
Tick. Tock.  
Tick.  
Tock.  
Tick.  
Tock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't convince me Yuu and Yanov are dead so I'm writing them in anyway.
> 
> Also whoops this might be a longer fic than originally intended? I didn't realize how much preface I needed to put in before Red Leader loses his memory


End file.
